For Better or For Worse
by The Cinderninja
Summary: You couldn't have one without the other. In the end, they were always together.
1. For Better

**Mossmask: There will be two separate oneshots in some attempt at narrative symmetry or some crap like that. One fairly happy, one not-so-much. Screw it, they're both kinda bittersweet. Let the titles be your guide. One will be set post 2003 series, and one will be set post Brotherhood. Both will be varying degrees of AU.**

**The following is AU only in the sense that after the events of the 2003 series, Al didn't lose his memory. Because sudden inconvenient amnesia is the worst plot device ever and just no. No go away do not want.**

**~Dash**

* * *

For Better  
Fullmetal Alchemist fanficton  
by The Cinderninja

A lot of people go through life wondering what their purpose was. Why were they here? What was the point of it all? A lot of people felt lost, adrift in the world and overwhelmed with no rock, no anchor, no light in the dark. Ed and Al had never understood these people. That was quite possibly due to the fact that for as long as either of them could remember, they had always had a purpose. They had never been left wondering what they ought to do.

From the start, they always wanted to please their mother. Everything they did was done for her. Most small children all felt this way, and in time, they all grew out of it. It wasn't until much later on that people started to feel the hopelessness that went hand in hand with no purpose. Maybe if their life had had less tragedy, the Elrics would have met this same inevitable fate as well.

But their life _had_ been filled with tragedy, and there was no changing it now. Their mother had died very early on, and after that, their life was filled with _new _purpose. They would find a teacher and master alchemy, they would learn all of it's secrets, and they would perfect the theory of human transmutation. Then they would bring their mother back. They always had this goal in mind. They knew what they had to get there, and every step closer brought with it a feeling of achievement. This was their sole purpose, their rock and their anchor, and the light leading them forward.

Until they finally reached their goal. Luckily – or quite unluckily, depending on who you asked – life was quick to give them new purpose. The transmutation failed, and Ed lost an arm and a leg for his troubles. Worse still, Al lost his entire body. It took some time for the boys to get sorted after the latest thing to go horribly wrong in their lives, but they quickly found themselves another track. Ed decided which road he was going to take and Al decided to follow him.

They would become State Alchemists – although in the end, only the older brother needed to – they would research the Philospher's Stone. And medical alchemy, and bioalchemy, and any other leads they thought might possibly hold an answer to get their bodies back. They knew they were on a dangerous path. It reflected too perfectly the same journey they had only just finished.

They lost their mother, they attempted the impossible, they nearly lost themselves in the rebound. And now, after losing themselves, they were determined to get back what they should just accept as lost. They were once more striving to attain the impossible, and they were both aware that in the end, they could lose themselves completely. But this was what they wanted and they wouldn't look back.

At times it seemed hopeless, but they never gave up. Because if Al felt like he couldn't go on, he just had to look at his brother and that would be enough to keep him going. And if Ed felt overwhelmed or that he just couldn't take any more failure, all he had to do was see Al, and he would remember what was at stake. They both kept their goals in mind, and they lived life with more purpose than most people could ever hope to be blessed with.

And so as long as either could remember, they knew where to go next. They knew what they were aiming for, and they were always by the other's side, ready to pick him up if he ever lost sight of his goal. This was how things had been their whole life, and neither could ever imagine things being different.

Until now.

Because Ed had reached his goal, and gotten Al's body back. But what was Al left with? Nothing. Because that was how he saw it. He had far more when he'd had no body, but his brother by his side, then he could ever hope to have with his body back and his brother gone. Without Ed, he... he couldn't even imagine... he didn't know... he didn't know where to go from here.

For the first time in his life, Al didn't know where to go from here. He had nothing to reach for. They'd gotten to the end of the road, and it turns out that yet again, it wasn't all they had hoped for. But now Al found himself alone, and he wasn't sure how to continue. He had no rock, his anchor was gone. He had just watched his light give itself up to the darkness. He fell to his knees and cried.

* * *

The first few days were the worst. But just like the first few days after the human transmutation, there was just so much going on, and so much to worry about, that his brain was allowed a brief time on autopilot to collect itself and prepare for the road ahead.

Those few days on autopilot were spent remembering things. Like remembering how to walk. To know the motions were one thing, but to feel all of the muscles and tendons in your legs reacting to a command from your brain and the way they pushed and pulled and moved around inside of you, that alone was enough to overwhelm.

But on top of that, he had to remember what it felt like to speak. To actually have to use your mouth. To remember which muscles had to move which way to make which sounds, and _boy_ did teeth feel _weird_. Run your tongue along your teeth and try out every new sound. It was all familiar but so completely strange and alien and _new_.

Then to remember what things smelled like. That wasn't something he could turn off. He couldn't just stop walking, or stop talking, or lie down and close his eyes and pretend the world didn't exist when his eyes were shut. It was a sense he couldn't turn off, and it was constantly sending new information into his head and he couldn't even _begin_ to understand it all. At first it had confused him until he realized that he was _smelling_ things. Then he spent his time trying to distinguish one smell from another, and figure out why some things seemed so familiar and why others he couldn't recall and knew he had no hope of ever placing.

He was acutely aware of his hair. The bangs constantly tickled his forehead and made his eyebrows twitch. It was short in the back and he constantly found himself reaching a hand up to rub it and giggling at how short and fuzzy it felt.

He felt. Everything. Everywhere. Every part of his body felt _something, _all the time. Bare feet on cold tiles. The uncomfortable, constricting feeling of socks. The skin in between his fingers felt strange when he opened his hands as wide as they could go and shut them again. He did this over and over but still couldn't decide if it was a good feeling or not. Every fabric felt different. Some were soft and light and made him feel every movement and shift of the fabric on his arms and legs. Some were thick and heavy and made him feel weighed down and he decided he didn't like these because they made it hard for him to breathe.

Hot and cold. He couldn't figure out what was what. He walked in bare feet everywhere – he spent the first days after everything in a hospital. The military wasn't sure what to do with him but Mustang decided that it would be best if he were kept under close watch for a few days because no one knew what so much time spent in the Gate might do to someone. He was slowly getting the hang of everything else again, but hot and cold, they eluded him. There was no easy way to put to words the way temperatures felt. There was no clear cut way to describe the difference in temperature, and it never felt the same way twice.

Sometimes you could feel warm in your chest but cold in your toes. Sometimes warm was a good thing, and made you feel cozy and safe. Sometimes if was uncomfortable and made you sweat and squirm around but never find a way to sit comfortably. Sometimes cold was a pleasant chill breeze, but sometimes it was harsh and made you shiver. Sometimes he would shiver so hard it made his insides hurt. Sometimes you felt both at the same time, and sometimes you felt neither. Temperature was always there, it never just _stopped_ being. But sometimes, if it wasn't extreme, it was easy for most people to forget about.

But Al couldn't just forget it or ignore it. It was there and it was strange and it was confusing. But he learned how to tell when his feet were cold and that putting slippers on would help (though not very much). He didn't wear socks because he had decided that he hated them. He learned when certain feelings meant he should take his jacket off or put another blanket on. Sometimes he got them all backwards, but usually, he was able to get it right.

Sometimes Mustang's men came by. Them and Hawkeye. Just to look at him. When Hawkeye came in she usually had a good reason and was actually able to have a fairly normal conversation with him. When the others came, it was just to look at him. They all had different expressions. Some looked completely surprised, like they couldn't even imagine that Al had ever been anything but a suit of armor, and now that they saw it, they had to get this whole new idea through their brains. Some just grinned at him. Some looked solemn because they knew what had happened and what it meant. They didn't usually stay for long, and they didn't usually say much. They weren't sure whether they should congratulate Al for what he gained or acknowledge what they had all lost. It was a hard combination of feelings to contend with, so most of them just avoided bringing up either topic at all, because each one would inevitably lead to the other.

Mustang came in, once. He wore an eye patch. He opened the door and looked at Al grimly. He said nothing, and then he left. That was the last Al saw him for a very long time.

* * *

Eventually, the autopilot wore off. It always does. Al was in Resembool when he broke down again. Because he had his body back, but what good would it do him? He still never got the chance to remember what Ed smelled like. He never had a chance to feel his hair, and he never would. He would never feel his brother's warmth, he would never know what he felt like. All that time they'd been so close, but there was a gaping distance between them. And the one thing Al looked forward to was the day he could hold his brother again and _feel it_.

And now he couldn't see that day ever fitting in to his vision of the future. He couldn't see much of anything in his future. The Rockbell house became a very bleak place in those times. The homunculus Wrath was there as well, but Al didn't see much of him. He was always in the surgery room. He'd lost the limbs he'd stolen from Ed and now Winry had decided to give him automail. Automail that had been made for Ed. In a way, Wrath would _still_ be taking them from his brother.

Al found he didn't have it in him to hate the homunculus for anything he'd done, but at the same time, he wasn't quite ready to forgive him. They lived in the same house but they rarely ever saw each other, and spoke even less.

Al had nothing. No idea. No clue. He needed something to do. Something to push towards. A goal to reach for, a stair to climb, a hurdle to overcome. He was stagnating. He couldn't look to his side and find motivation anymore. He didn't have a brother to remind him why he had to keep going. He didn't have Ed beside him, which made him feel like there was very little reason to keep going at all.

He had always had _something_. He knew giving up wasn't an option. His brother would never allow it. Even without him here, that much was obvious. Ed had given himself to the Gate for a reason. He knew what he was doing – probably, and Al simply wouldn't allow himself to waste that. He just... felt lost.

He felt like he could finally understand those desperate people. The people who turned to religion or God or men. The people who lost themselves in their desire to do more, and be more, and do _something_. He understood the confusion of not knowing why you were here or what you were good for. He finally got how people could sit there and not see the point in it all.

Because _he_ couldn't see the point. He was still alive, and that was good. He remembered that it was important to never give up, and that being alive was a good thing. But now he wasn't sure why. You needed to be alive to_ do_ things. You couldn't finish what you started if you died halfway through.

But what if you _had_ finished. What if you were done everything you'd set out to do? Could you die then? Some people would say 'yes', but Al was only fourteen, or ten depending on how you looked at it, so he felt the answer to that would be no. But then, most people took a lot longer to decide what they were setting out to do, let alone to complete it. Maybe that really was all there was to it, and he had just gotten through the whole mess quicker then others? That still didn't seem like the answer.

Then one day, he woke up, and everyone could tell he was different. He had found some purpose again, even if they didn't know what it was. He announced that he was going to go visit Teacher again and that he was going to find Ed and bring him back. No one knew what he meant by that. They knew that even when Al said 'bring him back', he couldn't mean human transmutation. He was desperate and mourning, but he wasn't that stupid and everyone knew it. Some thought he was crazy, others thought he was just sad. Winry just smiled and wished him luck, because she hadn't given up on Ed either. She didn't know what had happened to Al in those few days that made him come around, but she knew that if anyone could bring Ed back from wherever he was, it was Al.

In truth, Al had had a dream. The first of many. He had seen Ed. He had seen his brother, alive and well, and he had known, somehow, that it was more then just a dream. His brother was out there, waiting for him. And when Al woke up, he felt like a complete idiot. Because how could he have ever have let himself give up on Ed so easily. He and his brother had been through hell and back again and again, so what was one more time?


	2. For Worse

**Mossmask: The following is post Brotherhood, and AU in ways which should become obvious rather quickly.**

**~Dash**

* * *

For Worse  
Fullmetal Alchemist fanfiction  
by The Cinderninja

Al just kept getting weaker.

It was all wrong.

He was supposed to be getting his strength back and sitting up on his own and being able to start eating solid food. He wasn't supposed to be getting _thinner_, he was already too thin, far too thin. He wasn't supposed to be breathing through a mask because his lungs were to weak to do the job right. His hair wasn't supposed to keep falling out, even after the hospital staff had cut it.

He wasn't supposed to be _dying_, but that's exactly what he was doing.

After everything they'd gone through to get his body back, he wasn't supposed to just _die_.

The worst part was, it was all Ed's fault.

There were _so many ways _it was his fault. He had been the one to bring Al back, after seeing how frail he'd been in the Gate. He had been the one who was supposed to be eating and sleeping for both of them. So why was his own body so strong still while Al's withered in the Gate? It should have been the other way around. He didn't need all of the nutrients. His body shouldn't be so healthy while Al's was so _utterly weak. _

He was the one who had put his brother there in the first place. He was the one who had come up with the idea of trying human transmutation, he was the one who had ignored his brother ever single time he tried to voice his concerns. He was the one who asked for his brother's help when he should have just done it alone if he'd wanted it that badly. He was the one who'd thrown his brother's body to the Gate without a second thought. He was the one who only lost a leg while his brother lost his whole body. How was that fair at all? It just _wasn't_. It wasn't fair.

He was supposed to be the big brother, and he'd made _so many mistakes._ Big mistakes. Unforgivable mistakes. Not the kind of mistakes that you could fix with apologies or band aids. The kind of mistakes that left your baby brother dying on a hospital bed in front of you while you sat there, helpless, and failed him _yet again_.

He was supposed to be responsible for him. When Al was born, his mother had told him to protect him. She had told him that Al was _his_, that he was something to cherish, and keep safe. Ed had promised that he would. He had failed _both_ of them. Al was the most important thin in Ed's world. Al _was_ Ed's world. Why couldn't Ed have just seen that he had Al, and that was enough? Why had he needed to put both of them through this? Al had suffered so much because of Ed's selfishness.

Al had trusted him.

Al had _always _trusted him and he had done nothing but let him down.

And then Al had _forgiven_ him. Time and time again when he didn't deserve it.

Ed felt hot tears leaking down his face, and it was a strange sensation. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to cry. It was silent, but it still hurt. Ed could hardly breathe for all the heaving his chest was doing. It felt like his heart was being raked over hot coals. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Ed's hands – both flesh – were balled into fists, gripping the blankets on the bed so tightly that his knuckles were nearly the same shade of white as the linen. The entire room was dark save for the moonlight filtering in through the windows, and silent save for the sound of Al's laboured breathing and his oxygen machine. Ed watched as his brother slept, not knowing if _this_ would be the time he didn't wake up again.

Ed didn't believe in God, and he never would. He didn't believe in equivalent exchange anymore either. He definitely didn't believe in himself. Everything he had believed in had failed him. He would believe in Al, and that was it. He would put his faith in Al. He would trust that Al could succeed everywhere that he had failed.

Ed had not let himself cry for years. Not since he had trapped Al in his armor prison. Now he couldn't stop if he tried.

* * *

He swore at the doctors every time they tried to wean him onto the idea that Al would not be leaving this hospital while he was still alive. He shouted and broke things and had been forcibly removed more times then he could count, but he always found a way back in and in the end, they let him be.

Al used to tell him not to be so harsh on the doctors, they were only doing their jobs. And Ed would say that they weren't doing them good enough. Al would try to convince him that they were doing the best they could. Ed didn't know how even then, Al was the positive one.

Al used to spend his time playing with Ed's hair. He could waste hours braiding it and unbraiding it and running it through his fingers. He always had to be touching something, or playing with his hands. By far his favourite thing to touch, however, was Ed's hair. He said that he had always wanted to know what it felt like. Al used to brush their mother's hair when they were little, and he said that combing Ed's reminded him of that.

He would get Ed to climb up on the bed beside him and they would sit there and talk the whole day. After a while, he stopped being able to talk as much and let Ed do the talking instead. He would lean his head against Ed's chest and listen to the vibrations. He stopped playing with Ed's hair a little while after that. He would still get Ed to climb up beside him though, and he would lie with his head in Ed's lap. He would rest there and instead have Ed play with his hair – which was still long at the time. This was all before the doctors had cut it in attempt to get it to stop falling out.

He didn't like sleeping alone, and made Ed stay with him. That is, he had asked once, nervously, almost embarrassed, and Ed had immediately agreed and made it clear that whether hospital staff had any different ideas was irrelevant. Ed would climb into bed beside his brother and they would sleep together just like when they were little. Ed didn't care if people saw him or what they might think. It had never been about his reputation, it had always been about his brother. The reputation had just come as a side effect of his strong, and occasionally abrasive personality.

But Al was too weak for all that now. He was too weak for braiding hair, too weak for talking, too weak to climb in his brother's lap. Ed wasn't allowed to climb up on the bed anymore either, because it might disturb Al's breathing.

There was absolutely nothing Ed could do. He was a genius, a prodigy, he and Al together. And they'd come this far. They'd done the impossible and gotten their bodies back. And now he was going to lose him again this soon and there was nothing he could do and there would be no more binding his soul to something else. Even if he _could_ still do the alchemy to keep his brother's soul here, he wouldn't. It would be selfish to put his brother through that all over again. He'd give up all of his limbs all over again if it could keep his brother here for even a little bit longer, but it couldn't. There was absolutely nothing he could do. It had been a very long time since he had felt this helpless.

None of this would have happened at all if it weren't for him. He and Al could have just lived normal lives and grown up in Resembool with Winry if he hadn't felt the need to play God and drag his brother down with him. He was always dragging Al down. Al could have been so much more. He could have done so much. If Ed hadn't ruined his life.

It was all his fault.

Everything.

Ed's grip loosened as he pulled a wad of sheets up to his face and buried it in them. He was overwhelmed by Alphonse's scent – he'd forgotten it – and he let himself cry. He cried until the sheets he held were soaked through and then he kept crying because he was so sick of losing everyone he loved. He wasn't ready for this. And he'd never be able to live with himself if Al died because of him.

His chest hurt and it wasn't just from the tightness of the tears. It burned and his heart felt heavy and he felt like everything was over right then. This was worse then when their mother died because this time there was no false hope and this time it was_ his own fault. _He only quieted when Al stirred.

He was an awful brother.

* * *

Al wanted to see Winry. He wished he could see her face one last time. He took off his breathing apparatus and told Ed as much. Ed said nothing and instead stared at Al. Al didn't even realize what he'd said, so it never occurred to him that Ed would be so bothered by his word choice.

Ed watched him silently for a few moments until he started to cough. At that point Ed reached over with his – _flesh and blood – _right hand and replaced the breathing mask on his face. Then he'd promised to do what he could. He hadn't told Al, but he'd already called Resembool and let Winry know the situation. She should be on a train arriving later that very day.

Al moved the mask again – he wasn't feeling any stronger today. He didn't feel any more able to talk now then he had the day before. It just felt more _important_ so he managed it. He had a sense of urgency about him today. He needed to spend it with the ones he loved. He didn't think this body would last him too much longer.

"Ed..."

Ed looked up again and frowned softly. He didn't like Al taking his mask off, but he had felt the exact same sense of urgency. It was like an aura that hung over the room, and Ed was selfish. He'd been selfish from the start and would be until the end. He wanted to _speak_ with Al again.

Al wanted Ed to climb back up beside him. Ed knew he'd get in trouble again, but couldn't find it in himself to care. He'd listen to his baby brother over stuffy old doctors any day.

Al rested his head on his brother's chest and Ed played with his short but brittle hair. Al kept his breathing mask off the whole time. It would only get in the way. They talked about home, and they talked about going back. They talked about what would be the first thing Al ate when he got out of the hospital. They wondered about what Ed was going to do now without his alchemy. Al teased Ed about Winry, and when was he going to admit that he liked her? Ed responded by asking Al how long he was planning on waiting before he visited May in Xing, which shut the younger brother up quickly.

Al suddenly remembered Julia. He told Ed about the promise he made to go see her once he got his body back. Ed laughed and when Al asked why, he said that they would need to start making a list of all the things to do and places to go and people to visit. Both boys agreed that they were going to be awfully busy once Al got better. Probably even moreso then they had been dealing with this whole Philosopher's Stone mess and the homunculi.

Al wanted to go swimming.

They spent hours talking, and in those hours, the world consisted of Ed and Al and nothing else. Because Ed was Al's world and Al was Ed's, and they were together.

Those boys who mixed their blood together and shared their souls and were closer then anyone else in the world.

And it was Winry who found them like that, side by side and hand in hand with Al's head on Ed's chest and Ed's head on Al's shoulder, looking for all the world like they were asleep. And Winry fell to her knees and couldn't make a sound because she knew she was too late.

It was always the two of them, leaving her out of everything.

They always left her behind.

She stood, entwined her hand with theirs, and planted a kiss on both of her boys foreheads as she finally let the tears fall. But at the heart of it, they were happy tears. Because Al was in his real body, and the brothers were smiling, and in the end, they were together. Always together.

It was the best either of those boys could have hoped for.


End file.
